


we both know the way it's gonna go

by emmett0558



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Car rides, Crying, DNF, Driving, Fluff, M/M, Wind - Freeform, Yelling, hand holding, just a little bit, that one scene from perks of being a wallflower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29756076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmett0558/pseuds/emmett0558
Summary: George always wanted to know what it felt like to fly. Dream owns a convertible.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	we both know the way it's gonna go

**Author's Note:**

> [milfs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milfs/pseuds/milfs) and i stayed up until 8am to write this for grace @/ranbooloves on twitter < 3

“You know what I have never done, Dream? Stood up, like they do in that one movie, you know?”

“YOU’VE NEVER?- George, it’s so fun, do it I’ll play the music louder I know the perfect song I can-”

“Shut up.”

Dream’s laugh rings out over the blasting song as George pulls himself into a standing position in their convertible, almost falling back down onto his seat when the wind slams into his face, curling through his hair and making his lips pull up into an exhilarated grin. 

George extends his arms, air rushing through his fingers and catching in the fabric of his shirt. 

“IS THIS WHAT FLYING FEELS LIKE?” he yells, the chill wind numbing his tongue, tasting vaguely of saltwater. Dream says something, but George can’t hear over the song lyrics and the breeze whistling in his ears.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” he yells again, tearing his eyes away from the star-speckled sky to meet Dream’s, revelling in the planets he can see reflected in them. 

“YOU’RE SO CUTE!” he finally screams, before dialing the volume even higher and turning back to the road.

As they go around a bend, the ocean comes into view, a full moon sending lines of rippling silver across the water. The singing fades out temporarily, instruments carrying gently. 

“Beautiful,” George breathes. “Dream, this is-” 

A warm hand closes around his wind-chilled fingers. Eyes that shine with that same silver pierce George’s heart.

“Beautiful,” Dream repeats. 

George’s face is already flushed from the cold, but he can feel more heat creeping up his neck as Dream laces their hands together.

“Don’t go flying away on me, Georgie,”

The music swells again, the singer returning as the drums kick back in.

George lets the music fill his soul, tilting his head back, Dream’s hand a steady anchor as he sways with the music and the wind.

Joy. Pure joy is what courses through his veins. 

It seems to emanate from the unfamiliar yet comforting presence of Dream being so close to him. George rubs wind-dried eyes to gaze down at his blond hair, pushed back from his face and waving in the breeze, a smile ghosting across his lips as he mouths the words of the song to himself, thumb rubbing rhythmically across George’s knuckles.

Dream must sense that he’s being stared at, because he slams on the gas pedal, inertia pulling George’s body backwards, almost falling onto the trunk of the car.

The rush feels so good.

George tears his gaze away from Dream, gazing back up at the stars and how they disappear briefly behind palm tree leaves, glimmering and brightening with the beat of the song.

He could stay like this forever, leaning back albeit uncomfortably and being pushed against cold air that cuts through his nerve endings and turns his nose numb, but it truly is beautiful. If he closes his eyes it’s the other way around. George is the one soaring through the air, weightless, the cold a distant memory. Street lights that flash in front of his eyelids are shooting stars, and Dream’s fingers interlaced with his are what keeps him from flying too far away.

George basks in his freedom, the shifting bass of the music rising and falling just like him.

He knows his high has to end when Dream lets go of his hand and reaches for the volume dial.

George doesn’t know which is worse, the loss of the music or the loss of skin-to-skin contact.

He takes one last shuddering breath as the song’s final chords play out, swaying slightly as he closes his eyes against the wind. Later, he’ll swear up and down that he could feel them reverberate through him with how loud Dream had the music. 

Perhaps, if George were better with his words, he could describe how perfectly that song epitomizes the two of them, could liken Dream to a hot rod — too much too fast but so, so intoxicating. The music continues to fade as his thoughts race in time with his heartbeat, and he opens his eyes to take what feels like one last look at the lean stretch of pavement they’re hurtling through, now passing houses with darkened windows.

George feels his adrenaline rush wane with the song, finally giving into the wind’s agitation and letting himself fall back into his seat. There’s a brief moment of silence before the next song starts and Dream tears his eyes from the road to look at George instead.

It’s not _unsafe,_ George convinces himself, to take a page out of Dream’s book and curl his fingers around Dream’s wrist and pull it from the steering wheel, linking their hands together over the console. 

In the near silence, George finds himself fixated on the smaller things about Dream: the way his fingers drum to the beat of the subdued music, the thumb of the hand holding George’s rubbing small circles absentmindedly. Squints at Dream’s hair in the darkness, shaggy and disheveled from the breeze. 

“Like what you see?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on now. _George,_ ” Dream takes his hand away, resting it on the gear shift instead. George feels the cold seep back into his fingers instantly.

“Maybe I don’t like it because it’s too dark out,” he hooks his pinky finger with Dream’s, tugging gently. He can see the silhouette of Dream’s jaw, and how it drops.

“Well, there's a, well, there’s a light,” George has to suppress a giggle at Dream’s flustered stutter and the way he tightens his grip on the wheel.

It’s a small light that doesn’t really illuminate much of Dream’s face when George clicks it on, but it seems to catch in his eyes

George has heard about Dream's eyes before, has made Alyssa describe them in intricate detail and has zoomed in on the one photo Dream had posted of them on Twitter more times than he can count. None of that could really compare to seeing them in person, though. And they're no less stunning in the insignificant light coming from underneath the rearview mirror. 

Dream is open. He blushes fast when complimented, laughs loud even if something's not that funny, and never shies away from telling his friends how much he loves them. 

It's admirable, George had thought after another stream of Dream pandering for his affection, that he can say things like "love" in a split second where it would take George far longer. 

Privately, George curses the confrontational nature of a quiet car ride, and tries not to think about how the expression he can see painted pink on Dream's cheeks and in what he assumes is green in Dream's eyes is one that he recognizes in himself. 

_Love._

“Hi.”

“Hey, George.”

Dream’s eyes flick back to the road, but he slowly slides his hand back over George’s.

“Dream, I-” 

“What’s up?”

“That was nice,”

“Yeah, it’s super fun, isn’t it?”

“The song was pretty nice too,”

“A lot of that band’s songs are really good, I can play a few more when we get h-”

“What are we?” The words force themselves out of George’s mouth. 

He feels Dream’s hand twitch almost imperceptibly.

“I thought I made it pretty clear when I held your hand.” his voice is flat.

“So you- I- You think-” Dream pulls into their driveway, remaining silent as he shuts off the engine while not moving his right hand from on top of George’s

“ _George,_ ” he says, pleading. “I love you. More than just when I say it on stream. Figure it out yet?” He tugs his hand away, getting out of the car.

“Your stupid infectious laugh, your hair, your dumb _accent,_ EVERYTHING! You’re fucking _perfect._ ”

“Oh, and you’ve expected me to not think it was all a joke? You’ve only ever flirted with me on streams, as a _bit!_ Pardon me for not wanting to assume things when all you were doing was sending mixed signals.” Hot tears threaten to fall past George’s eyelashes.

“So what then, George? I was just trying to show you that I- That I-”

“I LOVE YOU TOO, DREAM.” It tears out of his chest. Through a blur of tears he can see Dream freeze.

“You-”

“How could I not?” Getting out of the car and walking up to Dream is easy, but meeting his gaze is the most difficult thing George has had to do in his life. 

“We’re so stupid sometimes, Georgie,” Dream’s voice is rough, but he lifts his hands, fingertips tracing George’s cheekbones. He relaxes into the touch, getting lost in the new softness of Dream’s eyes. He reminds himself to find those colorblind glasses again. 

“We can be stupid together?”

“Oh, shut up.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments are LOVED
> 
> also go check out The Co-Creator [milfs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milfs/pseuds/milfs)  
> their fic is so awesome and cool everyone go read it now


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